Not merely Formal Evening Event but
Black Tie Formal. Oh.
There will be gowns, ie, Cinderella.
Organza, tulle, taffeta, silk:
all those sumptuous fabric words.
Where do I order a pumpkin carriage?

From Catherine Reynolds' Spanish Table Newsletter:

Jamon Iberico

...it's simply amazing. For one, it's got a gorgeous mahogany color that immediately sets it apart from jamon serrano. These pigs have lived the good life. On the approach to your salivating palate you'll notice wondrous nutty aromas even though these aren't the true acorn-fed bellota pigs, but you would think these swine dine exclusively on Marcona almonds. This is all flavor with no gaminess, meltingly tender as Armandino's culatello, and astoundingly worth every penny. My favorite description came from my co-worker Steven who aptly coined the term, "meat butter".

So get a group of your favorite foodies together to chip in for a tasting--it's not cheap at $30 a quarter lb--or go build yourself the most decadent ham sandwich of your life.

This sure better be worth every penny
of the $120/pound pricetag!!
(We're going to splurge on some this weekend.
I'll keep you posted!)

Ah, serendipity: the dress I wanted
(for a formal evening event) DID NOT
cost $200; the price tag impossibly said $69.
Impossible in that it both fit the bill
and looked good. Imagine my surprise
when the clerk rang it up at 50% off -- $34.50!
This pleases me to no end.

Check out Rosanne Olson's new book,
this is who i am, our beauty in all shapes and sizes.
It's hot off the press and I had the pleasure
of skimming through it last night at my writing group.
Rosanne is not only a talented photographer,
she's also a poet. Looking forward to a closer look!
Available at Amazon.

Today is Homemade Turkey Stock Day.
A couple of meaty wings, an onion,
a few celery stalks, a carrot, parsley
sprigs, ten peppercorns, a bay leaf, salt:
heaven simmering in the kitchen.
Especially lovely when spring tempts us
then winter pushes back in. I'll let it
cool, then skim the fat, refrigerate
until tomorrow when I'll strip the meat
from the bones and boil up some eggy pappardelle.
Perhaps a basket of Touch of Grace biscuits too.
Is there any need for anything else?!
(Oh -- butter for the biscuits!)

Found myself with a free block of time
this afternoon, over at my house,
so I decided to grab clippers and tackle
the rampant grape vines. Not dressed for gardening
(black boots, slacks, nice sweater), but ambient enough
outside to shed my jacket, I began by hacking
at the lowest-slung vines, intertwined
with wild clematis and wisteria. Chaos!
Important at this early stage to not look at
the big picture but to focus on just cutting back,
pulling the dry brown strands from the tangle.
The fluff of clematis gone-to-seed
catching in my hair, my sweater.
And what's this? What's this thin crackle
insidiously wound around and around every stem?
The Dreaded Bindweed. Common morning glory.
So, battling four species knitted together.
Clip and clip. Pull. (Some of the grape vines
reach to twenty-four feet.) Clip again.
Finally, the snarl loosens; a framework emerges.
Detritus cast aside. Clarity.
All so that new growth may flourish,
and next winter I may have the privilege
of repeating this exercise.

(Realized, also, how necessary this cutting back,
this making way for what must surge forth
in the warming days.)

Yesterday I discovered that I can walk out the door
and take a forty-minute walk through woods
wedged between apartment complexes and
the behemoth Microsoft. Puddled ponds,
trickling streams, ducks, ferns clinging
to the sides of maples, windfall Doug firs,
cedars. The temperate rainforest
in winter's grey cloak. Nearly nature.
I was out for pussy willows though, and found none.

Roethke, Jive-ized

De Wakin'

I wake t'sleep, and snatch mah' wakin' slow, so cut me some slack, Jack.
I feel mah' fate in whut ah' cannot fear. Ah be baaad...
I learn by goin' where ah' have t'go. 'S coo', bro.

We dink by feelin'. Whut be dere t'know?
I hear mah' bein' boogie fum ear t'ear. Ah be baaad...
I wake t'sleep, and snatch mah' wakin' slow, so cut me some slack, Jack.

Of dose so's close beside me, which is you?
God bless de Ground! Right on! ah' shall walk softly dere,
And learn by goin' where ah' have t'go. 'S coo', bro.

Light snatch'd de Tree; but who kin tell us how?
De lowly wo'm climbs down some windin' stair;
I wake t'sleep, and snatch mah' wakin' slow, so cut me some slack, Jack.

Great Nature gots anoda' din' t'do
To ya' and me, so's snatch de lively air,
And, lovely, learn by goin' where t'go. 'S coo', bro.

Dis shakin' keeps me steady. Slap mah fro! ah' should know, so cut me some slack, Jack.
Whut falls away be always. And be near. Ah be baaad...
I wake t'sleep, and snatch mah' wakin' slow, so cut me some slack, Jack.
I learn by goin' where ah' have t'go. 'S coo', bro.

Finally, my boys came over to dinner, together,
tall, handsome young men that they are! Driving
home last night from work, anticipating their
arrival, I wondered once again how is it
possible that I'm a mother? When did this happen?
When did they grow up? Who have I become?
Driving east over the Floating Bridge the Cascades
and foothills were lit purple by the setting sun,
traffic was easy -- a world contained
in that moment, that thought.

And then in the kitchen, I became aware
of the universe having shifted: now they are guests,
and I'm the hostess/mom (better, I suppose, than hostess/cupcake!).
What a difference a little space makes!
This was no longer a perfunctory friday-night
dinner but an event. Hors d'hoeuvres included.
So much joy in this inevitable movement forward!

My Morning Laugh

Visit this site. You won't be disappointed.
(My favorites are jive and cockney.)

Absolutely The Easiest Scratch Cake

It has turned out to be a Blueberry Poundcake night:

3/4 cup butter
3/4 cup sugar
2 eggs
1 tsp. vanilla
3/4 cup
pinch salt
3/4 cup blueberries, tossed with a handful of flour

Cream butter and sugar, add eggs and beat well.
Add flour and salt, mix well, then fold in blueberries.
The recipe calls for a 10" springform pan,
which would be too large, I think. And lacking
that (at other house!) I just used an 8" square
pyrex pan -- not as pretty, but turned out
and dusted with powdered sugar, I don't think
anyone will turn it down because of its right angles.

Almost forgot: bake at 325 degree for 45-60 minutes.

Tonight may just be an Apple Pie Night.
My secret: use half goldens, half Granny Smith.
Cinnamon only. (No other spices.) All butter crust.
No substitutions allowed. Can't go wrong.

No Penance

I'd bet money that I'm the only poet
in North America who did not watch
last night's lunar eclipse. Instead
I opted for Project Runway at ten,
then cozied myself between the sheets
for some semi-trashy reading (Spending,
by Mary Gordon). Alas.
I wonder if there's a special confessional
just for Bad Poets. (I wouldn't go.)

I was a bad Girl Scout. In fact, my deceased troop leader
still owes me badges. We argued
(in grade five, mind you) about some protocol
in documenting the badge-earning process.
She made up her own rules and expected us
to abide by them. And the only graffiti
I ever did was during a scouting weekend
at Camp River Ranch in Carnation,
on the canvas walls of our covered-wagon "cabin."
Used a permanent marker -- don't remember what
I wrote -- and someone told on us. Bleach
was not much help removing it! Victory!

Just discovered a great website that's an online
personal food diary, nutrition tracker and exercise log
all in one. Calories in, calories out. I've always
resisted keeping a food diary just because it's so
time consuming, and so what -- it's just a list.
But this site instantly breaks down your latest
consumption into fat/protein/carbs/sodium, etc.
There is a little bit of work involved,
especially for those of us who cook from scratch.
This involves entering the recipe (recipe? People
use recipes?!) into their database, which then
converts to pertinent info. per serving.
Very easy if you're a brand-name shopper
or eat at chains. (Not me.) But once you mess around
with the site a bit, it's easy to make-do.
For $9/ month, it's worth it. And think of all the
calories you burn just entering all those recipes!
And two days into it, I can honestly say I'm hooked.
(Had only a 1/2 cookie after dinner. Only 35 calories.
Still under my daily limit.)

My cat weighs three pounds.

Check out The Carnality of Food on Killiansaid.
(Scroll down to the February 18th post.)

Gotta love that internet. One of yesterday's
submissions was via e'mail, and lo and behold
there was an acceptance waiting in my in-box
this morning for not one but two -- yes two --
poems! A new magazine -- Motel 58.
I guess that secretary-role-playing pays off!

Four packets of poetry in the mail for today.
The dreaded job. I've never been anyone's
secretary because I WOULD MAKE A BAD SECRETARY.
Too much paper shifting and file attaching
and save as and printing and stamping.
Etc., etc., etc.

Some new reality shows I've been contemplating:

Who Wants to be a Poet?
Project Poet
America's Next Top Poet
Dancing with the Poets

perfectly possible potential. Ponder it.

I had my assessment at the gym today
and while I'm off the charts in the upper body
strength category AND apparently have grown an inch
(thanks to two years of yoga and better posture)
I have to conclude that THE SCALE AT THE PRO CLUB IS EVIL.
It's back to eat less and exercise more. Boo.

Years and years ago, perhaps I was six or seven,
I had an abrasion of some sort on my leg
which I fidgeted over, didn't let nature
do its timely healing. I showed it to my sister P.,
who had a scientific, doctorly bent to her,
and upon examination, she stated with assurance,
Yes, it's leprosy.

Leprosy! Horrors! I was too shocked to let anyone else
in on this frightening "fact." I recall losing sleep
over this accumulation of ragged cells above
my ankle, in constant fear of loss of ear/nose/foot.
(I never considered the possibility, at that young age,
that I might be transmitting this disease to my family.
Ah! The self-involvement of youth! If I was going to die
a tragic, agonizing, untimely death, I was going to do it
alone, by gum.) But first I was going to have to endure
banishment and dress in tatters as my skin and bones
left a trail behind every step.

The fears eventually diminished when new symptoms
failed to appear. It had to be at least a year
before this happened, and I began to believe that maybe,
just maybe, P. had been mistaken. I didn't for a moment
believe that my beloved older sister had been
pulling my leg (off!)!